Honor Among Outlaws
by goodpenmanship
Summary: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are confronted by a peculiar client willing to sacrifice anything for their help.
1. The Burned Man

"England was slowly awakening from a deep wintery sleep and blossoming into a warm spring. I sat across from my companion as I perused the London Times, morning light pouring through the open window of 221B Baker Street. I glanced up at Sherlock Holmes.

'Did you hear about the Pentonville jailbreak that took place two days ago?' I asked as I scanned the newspaper article. 'It doesn't matter how fast you get criminals off the streets of London if they're just going to escape like these two fellows, Blake and Grady.'

Holmes nodded in silence, his eyes staring blankly into the distance and his fingers pressed together in thought. He snapped out of his trance. 'How's Joseph Barnes? Did he win all your money again? Was it in a game of cards?' he asked.

I was taken aback for a moment. 'I saw him last night,' I replied, 'but I'm quite certain I didn't say anything about it to you.' The previous night I had met up with my old friend Barnes at Fletcher's Pub and we exchanged stories over a few games of billiards. We joined a poker game at the pub and I ended up losing a few coins, but I had gotten home late and seen Holmes for no more than ten minutes before retiring to my room. 'Have you been following me?'

'Not this time, Watson,' Holmes answered. 'But I hardly need to shadow you to deduce your whereabouts. Last night when you came home at one-fifty, your clothes smelt of tobacco smoke and your breath held a hint of alcohol. Your fingers had traces of green cue stick chalk, which is commonly used at Fletcher's Pub, yet very uncommon anywhere else in London. Fletcher's Pub closes at one-thirty, which means you would arrive at Baker Street between one-forty five and two o' clock after closing.'

'But how did you know I saw Barnes?' I asked as I folded the London Times and put it down on the coffee table.

'Barnes is rarely found without a lit brightleaf cigarette, a common Virginian strand of tobacco,' said Holmes. 'You smelled particularly of brightleaf tobacco when you returned last night. I'm also aware that you and Barnes prefer to meet at Fletcher's Pub, as it is close to halfway between Baker Street and his residence, and they serve excellent pretzels. You don't go to pubs often, only when reuniting with a select few companions.'

'But how did you know he won my money?' I asked.

'When you left I heard the jingle of coins in your pocket, and on your return your clothes were silent. It's possible that you spent all the money, but I reason you gambled. I know Barnes is always eager to play cards, and I know why. I watched him play once, and I'm quite certain that he deals from the bottom of the deck to ensure he gets a preferable hand. He's quite good at it too. I figure Barnes cleaned up nicely last night at Fletcher's Pub.'

'That scoundrel,' I muttered as I let out a heavy sigh. 'I thought he was just getting lucky. That explains why he got such good cards when he dealt.'

Sherlock Holmes smirked, satisfied with his analysis.

There was a hurried rap at the door downstairs. Holmes raised an eyebrow in curiosity as I rose from my seat. I went down the stairs and opened the door for a tall Irishman donning old clothes and a tattered red scarf. He looked malnourished and nervous as he walked through the doorway, dark bags under his eyes and red rings of irritation around his wrists. The man paused uncomfortably before closing the door and following me upstairs.

Again there was a long awkward moment before he shut the door once he had joined Holmes and I in the study. In the light I saw he had a fresh star-shaped bruise above his right eye, and a horrid burn scar under his left eye. I gestured him towards the couch and he scratched at his scarf as he sank into the soft cushions.

'Mr. Holmes,' he began, his voice raspy and tired. 'I'm in dire need of your help. My wife has been kidnapped.'


	2. Ransom

'This is rather bold of you,' said Holmes coldly. He stared deep into the Irishman's eyes, gazing into his soul. 'So are you Angus Blake, or Alastar Grady?'

The Irishman's face flooded white and his eyes grew wide. He struggled to make words from his trembling lips. 'Angus Blake, but how did you possibly know?'

I looked over to Holmes in surprise. Blake and Grady were the names of the two escaped convicts that I had been reading about mere minutes earlier. How had he identified our unknown client so rapidly? Had he met the criminal before?

'I'd heard you were good, Mr. Holmes,' began Blake, slowly regaining color, 'but I never imagined you would deduce my identity so quickly. This just makes me more confident that you're the perfect man to find my wife, Barbara.'

'Are you truly planning on working for a known criminal?' I blurted out to my companion.

'Watson makes a good point,' Holmes said. 'While I'm impressed with your tenacity, I have no choice but to report you to the London police, Blake. Though I do agree to take your case and locate your wife.'

I uneasily looked over to Blake. He didn't appear threatening, and he had put himself at our mercy, practically begging for Holmes's help.

'This all started when my old partner, Alastar Grady, and I worked out an escape plan about three weeks ago,' said Blake. 'Two days ago we executed the plan and it went perfectly. We were out of Pentonville before anyone noticed.'

I let out a sigh and massaged the bridge of my nose. I was still coming to terms with the fact that we were assisting a convict.

'I often imagine escape routes from prisons as a mental exercise,' commented Holmes. 'I've thought of thirteen different escape plans for Pentonville. They really aren't as secure as they would have you believe. But alas, continue your story.'

'Yes, well, Grady and I were home free,' said Blake. 'We went back to an old hideout and gathered some clothes and supplies, but when I was distracted he snuck up on me and hit me across the head with his old cane.' Blake tenderly massaged the star-shaped bruise above his right eye, wincing at the pain. 'I was knocked unconscious, and when I awoke Grady was long gone. I went back home and found my wife was missing. That's when I found this note.'

Blake dug his hand through a coat pocket and retrieved two crumpled pieces of paper and a small box. He passed one of the papers to Holmes, who scanned it curiously.

_'Put the Brookville heist money in the knot of the burnt willow at Rosemary Park by tonight, or Barbara dies.'_

'Brookville heist money?' I asked, curious of how many crimes Angus Blake had been involved in. In the article it read that he and Grady had been arrested two months ago for arson.

'About eighteen months ago Grady and I robbed a jewelry store in the Brookville district,' replied Blake. 'It was our biggest payout. But the problem is I gambled away almost all the money we made. I was scared so I followed Grady's orders and put all the money I had in the tree that was struck by lightning in the park, but he wasn't satisfied.

'That was two days ago, the day we broke out of Pentonville, and today I finally heard back from him. I woke up this morning and found this outside our old hideout that I've been staying at.' Blake passed the small box to Holmes along with another crumpled note. The note was made of a thicker paper, was torn on the sides, and had a small reddish-brown stain on it.

_'Is this a joke to you? I'll give you until tonight to bring the rest of the money.'_

Blake buried his face in his hands and let out a long deep sigh. 'Grady thinks I'm trying to rip him off, but I really don't have the money!'

Holmes put down the two notes and opened the small box. My eyes grew wide and I winced in surprise as the lid came off, revealing a slender severed finger. Holmes gently lifted the finger from the box and carefully examined it, observing the clean cut and smelling under the fingernail.

'What should I do, Mr. Holmes?' asked Blake desperately.

Holmes sat in silence for a moment, reflecting on the two notes and the finger. I could tell the gears of his mind were whirring as he visualized London in minute detail, imagining Barbara Blake's location. He held the second note close to his face and sniffed the reddish-brown stain. My companion touched his tongue to the spot and tasted it for a moment before spitting into a tea cup on the table.

'What is it?' asked Blake. 'Blood? Wine?'

Holmes pressed his fingers together in thought. 'I know where Grady is keeping your wife,' he said. 'But as Watson mentioned earlier, you are indeed a convicted criminal, Angus Blake. If you go with us peacefully to the police station I'll be happy to reveal her location.'

Blake stood tall and proud. 'Anything. I'll do anything for her. Take me to the police, take me back to Pentonville. Just promise me that you'll save her.'

Holmes stood as well. 'You have my word that the police, Watson and I will do everything in our power to save her.'

'You truly are a great detective, Mr. Holmes,' said Blake. 'I have full faith in your abilities.'


	3. The Finger Points the Way

Together we brought Blake to the police station, where he calmly surrendered to Lestrade. In the end Blake cared more for his wife than his money or his freedom. Man makes mistakes, but the actions of Angus Blake led me to believe that there is indeed honor among criminals.

'Holmes, I must know,' I said after Blake had been locked away in the station, awaiting his return to Pentonville. 'How did you know Blake's identity? How did you know he was one of the escaped convicts?'

Holmes chuckled. 'Blake's behavior was the first clue. The man carried himself wildly suspicious from the moment he set foot in our flat. He was looking over his shoulder at every moment and he had the look of a hunted man. He neglected to shut the door behind himself, which I found particularly odd. In prison, the doors are opened and shut for you. He became far too used to life behind bars. Blake was still adjusting to life as a common citizen.

'His wrists were irritated from constant exposure to handcuffs, and judging by the length and shape of his hair, I'd say he received a standard Pentonville crew cut about two months ago. I recalled that two months ago, a group of eight gangsters for the Irish gang, the Roaches, were arrested for committing arson. I'm sure you remember the burn scar on Blake's face. I have no doubt that he and Grady are members of the Roaches. That in turn explains the scarf he was wearing. The scarf was too hot and clearly uncomfortable, as he continued to scratch at his neck and sweat, yet he persisted on wearing it. This is because Roaches often tattoo an "R" on their neck as an initiation to the gang. Blake didn't want us to see his tattoo so he tried to conceal it.'

'Astounding,' I uttered. 'All that from just being in his presence for no more than thirty seconds.'

Lestrade joined us outside the police station with a cab ready. 'Where are we going, Holmes?' he asked. 'Blake was telling me that you know where Alastar Grady and Barbara Blake are.'

'Yes, I'm quite certain of their location,' Holmes responded. 'I pieced it together when I realized that the second ransom note had a splash of mild laudanum on it.'

My ears perked up. 'Laudanum? The painkiller?' I remembered administering laudanum more than once while working as a military doctor. It's a powerful drug concocted by letting opium settle in alcohol for an extended duration, suppressing pain due to its high levels of morphine.

'Indeed,' confirmed Holmes. 'Reddish-brown in color and harshly bitter. It's a tincture of opium used as an analgesic. Barbara's severed finger also had traces of diluted laudanum beneath the nail, along with a small cut and a bit of broken glass.' Holmes looked to Lestrade and me in anticipation. 'Judging by the severed end of the finger, the paper used for the second note, and the existence of laudanum, where do you think Barbara Blake is being held captive?'

I scratched my chin and imagined the clues, trying to piece together what Holmes had figured back at 221B Baker Street. 'The finger was cut clean off,' I began. 'The wound wasn't messy at all, so Grady was using a sharp and precise blade. The note is thick, torn and musty. It looks like it was ripped from part of a folder. Of course the laudanum means the note was written somewhere where there is medicine readily available. Barbara probably broke a vial of it and cut her finger.'

Holmes grinned and nodded in approval. Lestrade butted in eagerly.

'So maybe her finger was cut with a scalpel!' he cried. 'The folder was probably used to hold medical documents. She's being held at a hospital, which explains the painkiller!'

'Excellent work,' Holmes said, gesturing to both Lestrade and I. 'But what hospital?'

'Somewhere abandoned,' I said. 'Somewhere where their laudanum is diluted.'

'Now imagine Rosemary Park,' said Holmes. 'Whiteridge Hospital is located across the street. The hospital was shut down about four years ago, partly because the medicine was often diluted and ineffective. Whiteridge has an excellent vantage point over the park, especially the willow that was struck by lightning, where Blake was instructed to drop off the money. Grady was watching Blake bring the ransom the whole time.'


	4. Recapture

We took the cab across London to Whiteridge. Holmes looked up at the side of the abandoned hospital.

'There's a window on the fourth floor that isn't boarded up like the rest of them,' he said. 'Grady is probably keeping Barbara there and spying on the park.'

Holmes, Lestrade and I stepped out of the cab and met up with three officers. A gentle afternoon breeze tossed leaves in the adjacent park.

'Alastar Grady is unpredictable,' barked Lestrade. 'I want everyone to be on their toes. Barbara is in more danger every second she sits in there with him.'

'Wait, she's alone,' said Holmes. Lestrade and the officers looked at him quizzically. 'Grady isn't in the hospital.'

'You just told us he was!' grunted Lestrade. 'So which is it?'

Holmes pointed down the street to a man hastily walking away, cane in hand. 'That's Alastar Grady!'

Together the six of us rushed down the road towards the agitated man. He looked back at us, and his eyes grew wide with fear. He broke into a sprint, shoving past Londoners and dashing between traffic.

'The cane gave him away,' said Holmes, breathing heavily, as we ran after the fleeing man. 'Blake told us the bruise on his head was from Grady's old cane, and it was clear from the bruise's shape that the cane had some sort of hard handle shaped like a star.'

I imagined Blake's bruise and tried to visualize what the bludgeoning weapon must have been shaped like. The fleeing man's cane did indeed have a star as the handle, which would leave a similar bruise if used as a weapon.

In the panic, the man scurried across the busy London street, weaving between horses and carriages. Holmes followed him, darting past an oncoming horse and leaping onto the back of a passing cab. He rode the back of the cab as it overtook the fleeing man.

Holmes jumped off the carriage and tackled the man to the ground, wrestling a previously hidden scalpel out of his hand. The officers soon caught up and restrained the man, dragging him out of the street and back to the police carriage.

'Alastar Grady,' Holmes said, still a bit out of the breath from the chase. 'You picked a poor time to leave the hospital. Were you risking being identified just to get a bite to eat?' Holmes chuckled. 'But of course, your greatest mistake was kidnapping Barbara Blake. Had you and Angus Blake simply left the country you may have escaped the authorities. But you got greedy.'

Two officers watched over Grady as the rest of us searched through the old Whiteridge Hospital. On the fourth floor we found Barbara Blake, beaten and exhausted. She was tied to a pipe on the wall and clutching the stump on her hand where a finger had once been.

After attending to the woman's wound, Holmes and I retired back to 221B Baker Street. He lit his pipe and sat in his chair, gazing out the window at our city as the sun began dipping below the horizon. Holmes blew out a steady breath of smoke and pressed his fingers together in thought.

London's greatest mind was back to work.


End file.
